Catch me if you can
by Niyin
Summary: They know him as the Wolf, a lone hunter for treasures, the only thief that they never managed to catch because he seems to disappear like a ghost. Never leaving any evidence apart from missing jewels and a small red seal. But when the Yard finally seeks Sherlock's help, will the detective discover his friend's secret? And more, will he accept it? No slash. thief!John
1. Teaser

**_!Alert!:  
This is__ only a teaser. The story begins next chapter :)._**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi once again :)  
So, I've put the teasers for my Sherlock fic also in an extra story... just to keep track of everything and maybe get a few reviews to see if you like the idea ;D. It's only a really short part, but I think more will be up soon. School's stressful as always, but the last two weeks were definitely the hardest, so I should find some time to write soon. Hopefully... :)  
And, before you ask (if you have read my other teaser for that Merlin fic) I seem to love old warehouses at the moment. Don't ask me why, they are just perfect for the story...^^  
So, anyways, I'll try to update soon, now enjoy and please R&R! ;D  
**

**Disclaimer: I do own the idea and my style... sadly, that doesn't apply for Sherlock. And, before you ask, neither John. *sigh*  
**

So when they almost catched the thief one night, burning the old warehouse in which he hid to ground (a fatal mistake- had he died, the Yard would have been held responsible) and the next day John smelled of smoke and had bags under his eyes, no one questioned him. Because, hey, he had just taken one of his countless girlfriends out to a pub the night before. Hadn't he?

Lestrade sighed, rubbing his temples wearily.  
The prison was open, the bank robbed and the crown jewels gone, all without a single sighting of the thief or even a _proof_ that he had been there at all, apart from his usual sign.  
Stuydying the howling wolf that was pressed into the red wax once again, the inspector slowly reached for his mobile. He couldn't afford waiting any longer, even if his actions would gain him furious silence from Donovan and Anderson as well as the disapproval of the whole Yard. But there was really only one person in the world who, maybe, could catch this particular Wolf. And damn all disapproval, they _needed_ him caught if they didn't want to end up as laughing stock of the public.  
Refusing to think about the consequences, Lestrade pulled out his phone and typed Sherlock's number. Let's see if the Wolf was up to London's One and Only consulting detective.

_I intend the first chapter to be basically the first scene with Moriarty in season 2 episode 3, but with John instead. It would start with Donovan getting coffee, than switch between her and John's POV and end with Donovan's words "Sir? There has been a break-in". If anyone intends to write a fanfic to this snippet though, please leave this idea for the first chapter to me._

**Well... I told you it was short. More will come soon, promise :).**


	2. Prologue: Howling Wolf

**Author's Note:  
**

**Hi everyone! :D  
So, I've finally decided to give this thing a real beginning, even if it's a short one. In fact I've had the first few pages written for more than a month now (I'm one of those old-fashioned handwriters :P) and couldn't get myself to type it. At least now there's the chance of a quick update- well, faster than this one at least.  
Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited and especially to those who reviewed my snippets. This wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you- and therefore is also dedicated to you...  
Enjoy and please R&R! :)  
**

**Disclaimer: I could lie and say that I own Sherlock... but, well, I guess no one would believe me anyways. So why take special trouble?  
**

**Prologue: Howling Wolf  
**

The first time Lestrade saw the small sign on the wax, he found it sad.

They had gotten the news of the break-in only two hours ago by an e-mail asking Scotland Yard to send their best man. Still, there was no need to feel flattered- Lestrade had simply been the only currently free inspector in the year's zenith of London crime. The case wasn't even his division. A petty theft, some jewels of a rich lady stolen. The only reason they needed Scotland Yard at all was because the police themselves couldn't find any traces of the thief.

The jewellery had been hidden in a safe behind the portrait of some long-forgotten ancestor, the lock new and secure. Still, there were no marks of forced entry, nor fingerprints, nor scratches or hair or any other evidence. Hell, there weren't even marks in the snow that had fallen the previous evening! It looked like their thief was a ghost, able to appear out of thin air and vanish the same way after having taken a few rubies and a little gold. Leaving behind the bigger diamonds.

The police soon thought the lady had simply misplaced her adornment and left the case to Lestrade, some snickering or glancing pititful at the 'poor inspector' who had to deal with the 'loss'. They stopped laughing however, when said inspector found a piece of paper with a red seal within his first hour at the crime scene.

The seal would have been little more than a smudge of wax if it wasn't for the fine lines that were carved in it, forming the statue of a howling wolf. Everyone else was furious- at themselves for not seeing it earlier, but even more at the thief for being so reckless and taunting and _skilled_.

Only Lestrade saw the loneliness that seemed to radiat from the desolate figure. There was the sorrow of a solitary pack animal, a lone wolf, combined with the pure will to survive, to fight on, all captured in one beautifully made image.

It was also Lestrade who called the case closed and the seal simply the possession of some guest.

When he found the seal the next time, he wasn't quite as amused.

Again some gold had been stolen, again there were no visible traces; and of course the case had to be _again _assigned to him. Seriously, there was some goddess of fate up there who hated him. What else had he done to deserve this?

Like the last time it was pure luck that helped Lestrade to cover the whole story up so the public wouldn't find anything suspicious. After all the inspector couldn't just admit that, yes, the thief seemed to be no more than a shadow and no, he had no clue what to do or how to stop him if he one day decided to get something bigger than a little finery.

What seemed even more mysterious was the exact moment the crime was committed. The jewels were laid out relatively unprotected in the bathroom all night- but no, the Wolf as they now called him couldn't do an easy job and just grab them. He- or she, by all they knew it could be anyone- _had _to wait until the dear lady put her bracelet down to take a bath, making the risk of discovery even greater. As chance had it, the girl returned barely two minutes later, having forgotten her favourite towel. Only that by this time, the golden bracelet had already disappeared, along with a just as expensive ring.

Lestrade sat at the case files for hours, rubbing his temples and sighing from time to time.

All it earned him was the feeling of complete hope- and helplessness and a rigid head ache.

To rob a house and then leave without trace was hard, near to impossible even, but in the end theoretically it could be done. Given the right skills, experience and a few hours time should suffice to wipe any evidence. But to break in, take the gold, clear the place of proof and then leave again within _two minutes _simply wasn't possible. And considering that the lady, who had been next room the whole time, hadn't heard a sound, despite the creaking stairs and no- she wasn't deaf at all...

The Wolf was a miracle that none of them would solve anytime soon.

And the thief seemed to know that exactly as he always turned up where they weren't and disappeared only seconds before they arrived. If possible, the cases became each a little _more_ dangerous and unbelieveable than the ones before, ruining their nerves just a _tad _more. For now, the only things missing were gold and silver, but who knew when the Wolf would get bored with that too and move on to the next step?

The thought made Lestrade inwardly shudder, even though he couldn't imagine what 'the next step' would mean for a criminal of his caliber. If the Wolf decided to start with the big things, no Scotland Yard or secret service was going to stop him. Lestrade knew this, and the thief knew that he knew. So that was why every new thievery seemed to mock them, the crime scenes laughing with their emptiness. The Wolf played a game, a huge game of hide-and-seek and catch-me-if-you-can, and the whole of London was his game board. Completely extradited to his moods.

And with every time Lestrade found it, the howling wolf seemed to look a little less sad and a little more infuriating instead. By the tenth time in two weeks, Lestrade swore to catch this thief, and if it took him a life's time to do so. No one should be allowed to toy with the security system of a whole country. It made them look incapacitated, and if the inspector couldn't stand one thing, it was to be helpless.

But even though now all Scotland Yard knew about the Wolf (of course, only rumours and whispers- no one dared to speak openly, as if that would summon him, Lestrade snorted), even though they had grown accustomed to his constant threat, nothing could have prepared them for the day the Wolf inally used _all _of his skills.

**Poor Lestrade... :) **

**What do you think? A review takes a few minutes at the most and will make a lonely writer very happy (and maybe even this story better). So, please? *puppy dog eyes*  
**

**(Woah- I just noticed that my prologue+AN [without this note] has exactly 1234 words. Had to mention that... and on with the reviews ;P!)  
**


	3. Chapter 1: A Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**_  
_

**Hi everyone! :)  
I've finally managed to get the rest of my handwriting typed and put it into the right order (apparently I wrote the second chapter first, then a teaser, then a first chapter... and then everything was completely chaotic), so I'm sorry if anything seems out of order in this or the next chapters. I did my best. :)  
Plus, this was typed on my eReader (which loves to leave letters out) and I've never actually been to London, so... perfect conditions to write this. Just remember: it's a fanfic, and it's mostly about the characters. That doesn't mean that the setting (and so on) has to be completely correct, does it? *hopeful*  
Thanks for all those lovely reviews, alerts and favourites!  
And on with the story... enjoy and please R&R. :D  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Don't know if I would even want to. After all this way I can look forward to the next episode and let it surprise me, instead of writing it and then worrying that it's all crap... :)  
**

**Chapter 1: A Cup of Coffee  
**

_Clack- clack- clack- ..._

The staccato of highheels broke the morning silence at London's most famous Yard, causing slightly bored officers to look up for news before they resumed their work. The dark haired woman ignored them as she passed, eyes trained strictly on the opposite wall. It was her way of dealing with the whispers and looks that seemed to follow her since the Study in Pink (not that she was reading that stupid blog).

_All the freak's fault._

The woman snorted angrily, throwing her hair back in a swift movement.

She didn't exactly know _who _had heard the freak talking about Anderson and her, but someone must have, for when she arrived the next day the speculations were already in the open. At first she hadn't even noticed it. But the glances and whispering were kind of hard to miss, the Sergeant thought drily. Not that she blamed her colleagues too much, after all they only repeated what they had heard. No, it was the freak who had started this with his damn words.

Because of him, she hadn't talked to Anderson for nearly two weeks.

_"...Donovan and this guy, this..."_

_"Yeah, I heard they were together. Did you know that he...?"_

The voices stopped abruptly when she passed and Donovan slowly exhaled, trying to suppress her anger as she turned an unattractive red. Why was it always her who ended up with the freak anyway? It was only a matter of time until Lestrade would call him for his current case. And of course then she would have to accompany him and Anderson to the crime scene. No one in their right mind would allow the freak to wander around a crime scene without anyone to watch. Getting new experiences for the future, Donovan assumed, a tight knot forming in her gut. This thief wore Holmes' handwriting, even if Lestrade didn't want to see it. The techniques, the clues, it all fitted- all except a trace to proof her theory.

Sighing deeply, Donovan stopped in front of the cupboard to grab two mugs. Hopefully a hot coffee would help her and make Lestrade see clearer. The freak _was_ their thief. Because who else would manage such robs?

**/\** _._..** /\**  
**|_|""""|****_| (- The Tower:P)**

The guards didn't even flinch when John passed, all scanning the crowd for suspicious subjects. To the security stuff, he was like a ghost; just another in the masses. Sometimes his small height and ordinary look were hs biggest advantages, the doctor thought with a dry grin. Nobody would suspect poor invalided Doctor John Watson to be _the_ Thief, their Wolf, the man they had sought for ages and couldn't seem to catch because he was just too damned elusive. No one in the world would find _him _suspicious, except maybe Sherlock.

Something stung in his chest at the thought and John grimaced, the grin disappearing instantly. He wasn't _really _betraying Sherlock. The detective had said it himself several times; he wasn't an angel. He would probably laugh about such petty thievery or find it interesting to study. But still... Truth be told, John felt ashamed for not telling his friend. He could trust Sherlock with his life and would do so without a second doubt. So what was keeping him from telling the detective?

Sighing, John ducked between a group of tourists, responding automatically to their smiles as he pondered the question. What frustrated him most was that he had no _real_ reason for not telling Sherlck. Sure, one day he would be caught and then it could get dangerous for the detective if John pulled him into the mess. But then again he would be in trouble even now purely for living in the same house as England's most wanted. Sherlock had never cared about trouble. Just like him.

The doctor smiled at the guards that went to quickly scan him. They would find nothing suspicious about him. For who would ever suspect something to be wrong with a mobile and a set of keys?

**\|/  
****|_|0** **(- mug of coffee)**

The coffee was dripping painfully slowly through the machine, completely unfazed by Donovan's deadly glares. The Sergeant narrowed her eyes, fingers tapping impatiently on the white desk before she sighed and pulled back. She wasn't desperate enough for a staring contest with a machine yet.

"Hey, Donovan! Loosing against a machine?"

The cheerful vpice interrupted her thoughts abruptly and Donovan closed her eyes, not even bothering to turn. _Persneak_.

"Fuck off."

The other Sergeant just laughed. "Now, now- don't be so rude, my dear Sally. Isn't it gping well with Anderson?"

Donovan only noticed that she had clenched her hands to fists when her nails dug into the softer skin. She couldn't stand Jim Persneak after a single look at his arrogant face, the light brown hair brushed back with a ton of gel and blue eyes gleaming. He must be a quite handsome man, but all she felt when looking at him was disgust- and he seemed to feel just the same for her. It was well and truly the opposite of love on first sight. Plus, Persneak seemed to be one of thise old-fashioned idiots who wouldn't accept women in a job such as Scotland Yard: In his eyes, they were little more than beautiful furniture. And he had picked Donovan to make her work a living hell.

Still, even after years of jear and scorn, the female Sergeant wasn't ready to give up. She wouldn't quit her job because of some onoxious prat after surviving the freak for years.

"I said piss off, _sneaky_."

Donovan smirked as she heard his quick intake of breath. Persneak had always hated that name- maybe because it fitted so well.

"Awww Sally, I feel deeply hurt by your impolite statement. You may bring the coffee to my office, since you seem to have taken the full-time houswife's job here. See you..."

Donovan forced herself to stay completely still until Persneak was gone, already knowing from experience that her anger would just amuse him. Only after his quiet steps had ceased, she allowed her fist to meet the wall, cursing when her knuckles creaked dangerously. This would be a long morning at the Yard.  
And the coffee was still dripping on.

**°o*°**  
**0*.°o (- jewels. Yup, I'm creative:D.)**

John rubbed his black moustache unobtrusively, carefully pressing it back into place. The beard was a bit scratchy, but definitely worth its prize as a disguise. It was slightly large to cover half of his face though it still looked real enough, unlike most of the other false beards John had been shown. They would do a better job at carneval.

The doctor stopped in front of a vitrine to check his clothes one last time, admiring his look.  
He wouldn't have been able to recognize the reflection as his own if it hadn't copied his movements. The man in the glass was taller than him (platform shoes were great, if they could be hidden under long trousers) and slightly fat, the colouful clothes of a tourist stretching around his thighs. A few strains of black hair peeked out from under the baseball cap, matching the enormous black moustache. The man's brown eyes glittered with suspense.

John grinned contentedy and the man showed a wide smile. It wasn't an unusual face- not strange enough to draw attention in the mass of tourists, but unrecognizeable to pretty everyone. One would need Sherlock to find him like that.

His smile faltered slightly as John abruptly turned away, striding with long steps towards the Inner Ring and the Jewel House.

It was a wonder that Scotland Yard hadn't called Sherlock yet- he would have to thank Donovan and Anderson, John supposed with a small grimace.

After this rob, he wouldn't be so lucky. No way Lestrade would watch the Crown Jewels being stolen without calling their best man. There was a good chance that this would be his last act as the Wolf. Leaving only crimes to solve when he needed an adrenaline kick in future.

John forced the smile back on his face, almost unconsciously mixing with another group of tourists. This was the Wolf's last act and even if he had to vanish after it, John could at least make sure he wouldn't be forgotten.  
His grin widening gradually, the doctor reached for the mobile that was tucked safely in his pocket.

No; if one thing, the world would remember him.

** o_._o  
(0:01) (- the time is** **running out)  
**

A drop of coffee landed on Donovan's hand and she cursed, quickly searching for a table to put the two mugs down. Of course there was none in reach. Swearing, the dark-haired Sergeant stepped into the next office and almost dropped the hot coffee on the table as she waved her hands to cool the red skin. Black liquid splashed against the rims of the mugs, staining her white jacket.

"You alright?"

Lestrade's worried (and slightly amused) voice interrupted her tirade and Donovan startled. She hadn't even noticed the DI. The Sergeant tried to glare at him, but then settled on a tired sigh, pushing the first mug towards him.

"Just getting some coffee."

"Thank you."  
Lestrade gave her a kind smile, obviously noticing the dark lines under her eyes despite all make-up.

"You're welcome, as always" she replied with a lopsided grin. This man saw absolutely everything. Well, he hadn't become a member of Scotland Yard for nothing. Even the freak seemed to respect his qualities.

"So everything's fine?" Lestrade repeated, his expression growing more serious.

Donovan suppressed a flinch and simply shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "Tough few weeks. I'll survive."

He nodded, sensing her unwillingness, though his eyes told a different story.  
_He will try to make them stop_, she remarked with a mixture of surprise and gratefulness. _Even if he'll get in trouble for that. _Sometimes, Lestrade was just too kind for his job.

"It's OK" Donovan assured him, flashing a small smile. _It will be OK once I've spoken to Anderson.  
_For a moment there was only companionable silence, both staring thoughtful into space, before Donovan pulled herself together and reached for the second coffee.

"I'll be going back then. Still got some work to do."

Lestrade smiled, his fingers curling around the hot mug. "See you."

With a last short nod Donovan left, too aware of the pensive eyes that were watching her. Only when she had disappeared, Lestrade sighed and shook his head as if to get rid of the dark thoughts. He would talk to the other officers later. For now, all he could do was drink coffee, wait and wonder.

With a brief sarcastic grin, Lestrade lifted his mug and took his first sip of coffee, completely oblivious as the security stuff in the Tower, the director of the Bank of England and the one of Pentoville Prison did the same barely a second later.

**So, what do you think? Does the scene remind you of something? :D**

**Oh, and I don't think that Donovan intends to be mean. She blames Sherlock for pretty much everything- I mean, she's worked hard to become a good Sergeant and then this guy enters and solves all her crimes within seconds. Maybe she's just jealous and very careful.**

**And last but not least- is the name 'Pentoville Prison' right? I couldn't remember what it was called and found the name on some website.  
**

**Also, please tell me if there are any huge mistakes (in my grammar/spelling as well as in content or setting and things :D).  
**

**Review Responses:  
Guest: **I have, I have :D. Thanks for your review- I hope you liked this chapter!


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